Intersection #6
“Ghosts assemble us again tonight. Ungrateful: this / page, white space, window-light. It will not be enough / to write. It will not be enough to rise and praise // the disappearance of all that came before us.”
Chelsea Dingman
Chelsea Dingman’s first book, Thaw, was chosen by Allison Joseph to win the National Poetry Series (University of Georgia Press, 2017). Her second poetry collection, Through a Small Ghost, won The Georgia Poetry Prize and is forthcoming from the University of Georgia Press (February, 2020). She is also the author of the chapbook, What Bodies Have I Moved (Madhouse Press, 2018). Her work is forthcoming in The Kenyon Review and The American Poetry Review, among others. Visit her website: www.chelseadingman.com.
Intersection #5
“The dream is back: I search the BC wilds for my father, bargaining with that impenetrable landscape, our god, to let me find him alive. Tonight, I am lost in a blizzard and I have to choose to forego looking for him in order to live. I have to choose to live.”
Intersection #4
With Intersection, her monthly column, celebrated poet Chelsea Dingman enters a place of questions left hanging—of lyric understanding, of addiction, and womanhood, and politics, and death.
Intersection #3
With Intersection, her monthly column, celebrated poet Chelsea Dingman enters a place of questions left hanging—of lyric understanding, of addiction, and womanhood, and politics, and death.
Intersection #2
With Intersection, her monthly column, celebrated poet Chelsea Dingman enters a place of questions left hanging—of lyric understanding, of addiction, and womanhood, and politics, and death.
Intersection #1
With Intersections, her monthly column, celebrated poet Chelsea Dingman enters a place of questions left hanging—of lyric, of addiction, and womanhood and politics and death.
How All Things Are Managed
“…over and over I felt undeserving of these children. Of anything good staying. It’s possible I still feel this way. I’m not sure this feeling will ever dissipate, no matter how many daughters I dream up in my poems.”
A Small Life
“I don’t know if there is a smaller life / to hope for. A river / passing the house. The fish / floating in the pit
of its belly”